Patchwork Lives
by theunsilenced
Summary: 24 lives come together to craft a story of epic proportions in a Hunger Games that the Capitol will never forget. 23 of them will die and the victor will wish that they did too. SYOT OPEN
1. Poison

"Head Gamemaker Belladonna Crasus… I'm sure you know why you are here." President Amhurst said, voice curt and crisp. The lady standing in front of her, presumably Belladonna, averted her gaze out of deference. The Head Gamemaker from the disastrous 54th Games was found dead in his room, a gun on the bloodied sheets and a suicide note clutched in his white hands: _im in a better place now. _

It wasn't his handwriting. Belladonna knew that, and if she spoke up, she would be swiftly silenced. She knew she never would say anything.

"You would like to see the arena." Belladonna forced her voice to be light, airy.

She graduated at the top of her class at the accredited Cyprus Academy, but she knew that didn't mean she was intelligent. Unlike her classmates, who had gone on to become officials, she was well aware of her stupidity. She knew that there was _something _wrong with the system but she was a clumsy writer and a weak speaker. Rebellion was never an option to her. She couldn't express the dark thoughts that flitted through her mind. She had no choice but to conform, to mindlessly parrot other's thoughts.

"Yes," President Amhurst drawled, slightly amused. "After all, the Games are in a few months, aren't they?"

Belladonna blushed. and she fumbled with the projector. The map reflected on the white walls of Gold's office and came into focus. The President furrowed her brow and drummed her fingers on her mahogany desk. Belladonna cleared her throat. Why she had been chosen to present the plans for the arena was beyond her. Why she was even _chosen_ as Head Gamemaker was beyond her.

"So." Belladonna flicked a stray strand of pink hair out of her silver eyes and cleared her throat. "I, we, were thinking of having the arena be a jungle. And it will have muttations. Lots of them. We're working on some new ones now-"

"A jungle." President Amhurst raised her hand and stonily met Belladonna's eyes. She squirmed slightly, as if pinned by the other woman's gaze. "We attempted that for the 40th Games. Too much water, too many hiding places. The Games dragged on for months."

Belladonna took a deep breath. They had thought of this.

"We had thought of this problem and we have several ideas to counteract that. Firstly, the muttations should pick off a few of the tributes, or at least drive them together. And the arena will be shifting, constantly changing. Our scientists are developing some new terraform techniques."

President Amhurst raised her eyebrows and leaned forward a little. Her face displayed a cold, detached interest. Belladonna smiled this time, but she couldn't conceal a squirming doubt in her stomach as she realized now she had to present her idea. She came up with it and it seemed right. At the time. The other Gamemakers applauded her, and she couldn't stop the pleasant, warm sensation in her stomach. The tributes weren't human.

_Was this right? _She quashed the thought immediately. Little children cried when they saw the deaths on television, then, as they grew, they were set straight by parents. Her children would be smacked if they spoke out against the Games, they needed to learn respect. She didn't find it wrong, they would face much worse from officials and teachers if they spoke out. People much smarter than her worked on the Games, advocated it. She was a new official, she needed to learn her place.

But Belladonna could barely keep her voice calm as she explained what would happen as night fell and the tributes slept, or hunted.

President Amhurst shook her hand with a great big smile and sent her on her way with a smile on her face and a promise of a promotion. Belladonna couldn't stop the _thank yous _flowing from her lips and she nearly skipped out of the office.

She was a mother of thirty five, young for an official of her position. She considered herself successful but knew the truth. President Amhurst was a young, pretty lady who was more intelligent and wise than she could ever be.

**A/N:**

**Guest submissions are accepted. Users: you can either leave your submissions in the reviews section or PM to me. Be sure to follow the story!**

**Feel free to add as much (or little) detail as you want and if you want to leave a section up to me, leave an X in the section. Warning: this is NOT first come, first served. I will try to keep the characters as close to the information provided as possible, but you need to leave DETAIL. Characters may be moved to another District. That said, have fun!**

Name (and nicknames, if any)

Gender

Age

District (and backup)

Personality

Family

Friends

Social Status (Rich? Average? Poor?) What are their living conditions like?

Relationship Status

Reaping Outfits

Reaped/Volunteered (if volunteered, why?)

Appearance

Health

Hobbies

Likes/Dislikes

Education Level

History (any important events in their life?)

Strength/Weakness in Games

Training Score

What do they do?

Interview Angle

Interview Outfit

Open to Alliances?

Open to romance?

Could they kill someone?

How badly do they want to win?

Do they have hope that they can win? Why?

Do they participate in the Bloodbath? Why?

How long do you think they can survive?

Weapon of choice

Token

Reaction to victory

What would they do with the money? Why?

Preferred Death:


	2. Swords and Roses

Belladonna's half shut eyes fluttered as she reclined on her leather couch, clutching a wineglass in her hand like it was a lifeline. She tilted it back and drank deeply, savoring every mouthful. The newscaster in the television faded to a low hum, which was the way Belladonna liked it. The inane speculations on the Hunger Games would be her downfall. And so would the endless replays of last year's stunning victory. A District Eleven tribute won, Thistle was his name. They had pitted mutts against him, trying to help the District Two boy, a Capitol favorite, win, but he killed them off. Then smashed the other boy's spine open with a club. _It all worked out in the end didn't it, _Belladonna thought hazily to herself. _Loved the blood, they did. Liked the sound it made when his body hit the floor. Some kind of thump._

Belladonna laughed. She didn't like it, but she laughed. It was some kind of release. She needed it. They would begin building the arena soon, finalize the map. Make it more deadly. President Amhurst would be there for every second of it.

_One would think, _Belladonna thought hazily to herself, running her long fingers over the lion furs draped over her couch. _That she would have something else to do. Running Panem must not be enough work._

"No," Belladonna rasped to the paintings hanging on the walls of her penthouse. "She has to stick her long nose into everything." The presentation she made to the President was merely a formality. She would busy herself with coming up with new cruel ideas for muttations, come up with traps that would kill as many tributes off as possible. The President was a former Gamemaker and seized power through his father, who was widely believed to have lead the Capitol after the Dark Days.

"Lies," Belladonna hissed to herself. It never occurred to her to hold her tongue, maybe think about what she was saying. "All lies."

Then, she blinked back tears as her blasphemous words raced round and round in her head. _Amhurst,_ she thought to herself, feeling disgusted, tainted. _I spoke out against President Amhurst._

Belladonna took another sip of her wine. _I'm insane when I'm alone. This is who I really am. Disgrace._

Like everycitizen, Belladonna had raised her children to be ideal followers of the Capitol. Her daughter, Valentina was following in her footsteps and her son, Tempest were both ideal citizens of the Capitol, following the doctrine with zeal. They both aspired to be part of the government. Both of them delivered speeches at Cyprus, parroting laws and shining slogans about how _right _everything was, how they had achieved a perfect utopia.

_If this is the best humanity can achieve, than we're screwed._

"_Like a phoenix from the ashes, like a shining beacon in a dark and turbulent sea, we, the citizens of the Capitol stand tall and strong. My people, I ask you to imagine this. In one hand, you, yes, you, hold a sword. A pristine, perfect weapon used by humanity for generations. A symbol of bravery. We use this to strike down our enemies, never afraid to defend our beautiful lands. In the other, we hold a rose. A symbol of our beauty, our perfect lives, unladen with the disease and starvation that has plagued humanity for generations. My people, applaud your country! This is the crux of humanity! Thousands of generations have rose, only to subcumb to their flaws, their fatal flaws. We rose, we, a perfect race, we a perfect society. We thought we would not fall. Then the Dark Days, when our soldiers took up arms and defended our Golden City. Blood was shed here, right beneath your feet! Blood of your families! They have died for you, sacrificed so you can live. My people, take pride in who you are, a citizen of the Capitol! Carry it in your heart! It pumps with the blood of your ancestors, who were felled at the guns of rebels! Cowardly rebels! They try and take what is ours! Rightfully ours!"_

Her daughter, Valentina delivered the speech, her hands slamming on the podium, her golden eyes flashing with an impassioned madness, her mouth screaming blind hate and blind patriotism, which was all she had ever known. Valentina, the perfect student, the perfect citizen, the perfect girl with the perfect future. She was head of the Future Gamemakers of Panem, Daughters of Amhurst, who dedicated themselves to publishing glowing editorials of her in the school newspaper, _Cyprus and Panem, _and, her personal favorite, the Youth for the Future of Panem, an organization that handpicked the "best and brightest" and provided them with easy access to government jobs when they graduated. Her colleagues spoke of it with fond memories. Valentina was utterly dedicated to them and delivered speeches for them every weekend at the school.

"Good for you, Valentina." Belladonna was no fool; her daughter would turn her in an instant for _poisoned thoughts that will destroy our utopia. _Valentina had noticed a change in her when she turned fifteen, when she procured a job as Gamemaker and finally had to stop deluding herself. She was privy to the inner workings of the government, the so called _suicides, accidental deaths._ Rape. Murder. Insest. Arson. All part of Valentina's utopia.

Belladonna tried to delude herself, but her first Hunger Games was coming up. _I am not sinful. Amhurst is good. _She took another sip of her wine. _I am a good mother. I have raised a good child. _She tilted the glass back. _I am not truly rebellious. I am just drunk. I am not thinking clearly. _The wineglass was almost empty now. Belladonna reached for the bottle. _My daughter is simply a contributing member of society, not a blind soldier. I have not wasted my life working to orchestrate murder. This is__ not __a dystopia. I am just crazy now. Things will go back to normal._

Valentina would kill her now, Belladonna realized. Her daughter did not care for her. Tears burned in Belladonna's eyes. She was not family, she was truly loyal to the government. _(I am not loyal to you, mother! You have never cared for me, not at all! You gave birth to me, it is your duty to raise me, not get drunk, cloud your head and mangle the Games! I have withdrawn all money from my trust fund and I'm moving out. Have fun with your failure of a friend, Silex!)_

They talked, some, knowing that it was not uncommon the Capitol for this to happen. It happened a year ago, and the wound was still gaping. Her husband, Clatus, had taken Tempest and was pushing him to be a Peacekeeper. Belladonna sighed loudly, tilting the wineglass in her hand and watching the liquid fall back and forth. _I thought alcohol would help me __escape__ my problems. Not bring them all back._ The wounds were open, bleeding and infected.

"You okay? I called and you didn't respond." A hand landed on her shoulder, gentle. She didn't even know anyone was in her apartment.

"Silex?" He was the only one with keys. He was an old friend from Cyprus, and the exact opposite of her in every way. He was kind, nice, content with helping the new Gamemakers learn the ropes. He wasn't intelligent either, but neither was she. He got on well with Valentina, applauded her speeches, showering her with smiles and praise. Valentina's disdain was clear, however.

Silex was liked by many people, and may have been the only one there without a long string of scandals behind him. He was simple, and kind, and able to be oblivious to how toxic the whol Capitol was...

"Yes," he joked, shaking her slightly, "I am Silex Winchester, your friend."

Belladonna laughed. He was pretty, she thought. Gold hair that fell to his shoulders and blue eyes she knew couldn't _possibly _be real but were beautiful anyways.

"Friend, yes," Belladonna uttered, "Didn't think those existed here."

"What happened?" Silex asked, naive as ever.

"Sad," Belladona sighed, making a sweeping gesture with her arms. Wine spilled out of the glass onto the rug.

"Why?" Silex lightly touched her cheek. She had just gotten surgery on those, to make her face seem more round. Youthful. Innocent.

"You don't realize?" Belladonna said distantly, hoping that her judgement and thoughts were clouded and she didn't really believe this, "Everything's lost. Everything's empty."

Silex smiled, gentle and kind as ever. Belladonna returned the grin, more to placate him than anything else. "You're drunk. I smell the alcohol on your breath. Just wake up and you'll be sane again."

"I think I might love you." _I want you to make me clean again. I want you to take this out of me._

Silex just laughed.

**A/N: I'm pretty unsure about this chapter so PLEASE tell me what you think. Do you want more of Belladonna and Silex or no? Let me know in the reviews. Also, someone asked me to post the tributes that have been submitted. I need some more males, there are tons of Districts available for them. So PLEASE don't just submit girls and don't just submit tributes with dark and tragic backstories. Having twenty-four orphaned tributes who all have prior training experience and can wield swords and knives is a statistical improbability. I LOVE cunning tributes from the Outer Districts (Johanna and Foxface, anyone?) but please don't make them all the same. But, I appreciate ALL submissions, and don't let this mini-rant put you off. I hope to get the Games started soon :) **

_District One Male: Tobias Mason (nebetb34)_

_District One Female: Ruby Chance (We're All Okay)_

_District Two Male: Maro Linwood (upsettowncat42)_

_District Two Female: Astrid Calloway (Mary Queen of Scots)_

_District Three Male: OPEN_

_District Three Female: OPEN_

_District Four Male: OPEN_

_District Four Female: OPEN_

_District Five Male: OPEN_

_District Five Female: Tesla "Tess" Mitchell (wolvesareawesome13)_

_District Six Male: Elton Fernit (Kkfanatic22)_

_District Six Female: Arisa Wertnic (Krisy45)_

_District Seven Male: OPEN_

_District Seven Female: Sloan Ashmore (popcorn-codes)_

_District Eight Male: OPEN_

_District Eight Female: OPEN_

_District Nine Male: OPEN_

_District Nine Female: Cyme Samora (PsychoLuna)_

_District Ten Male: Ace Wolfe (Wincestcher)_

_District Ten Female: Isadora "Issy" Lomax (Queen of Colours)_

_District Eleven Male: OPEN_

_District Eleven Female: Elizabeth Roots (Jose12)_

_District Twelve Male: OPEN_

_District Twelve Female: Cassia "Cassie" Rivers (Wincestcher)_


	3. District One

DISTRICT ONE:

Ruby Chance

**We're All Okay, this ones for you :)**

Ruby will volunteer in the Hunger Games tomorrow without a hint of nervousness on her part. _Poise. _She smiles and her reflection smiles back. _Poise. _That is her favorite word. It means confidence, intelligence, haughtiness. All things that describe her perfectly.

Not taking her eyes off the mirror for an instant, Ruby picks up the bejeweled knife on the top of her bureau. It sits, innocently, between her makeup and her nail polish, something that would be deemed unusual for anyone but Ruby Chance. She turns it over in her perfect hands, admiring the way the ruby studded hilt sparkles in the exact same way the elegant ring on her _perfect_ finger does.

Still holding the knife loosely, Ruby takes a deep breath. Yesterday was a long day. She closes her eyes. _The game, the game, the game. The game is getting harder to play. _She spent a day pressing her (_fat sack of fucking shit) _body to it's limit, her lean, wiry arms hacking at swords until they ached. _They shouldn't ache. _Ruby snarls at herself, her beautiful face contorting into something else. The face her enemies see before they fall. The stuffing inside the dummies fly apart and litter the immaculate floors of the District One Academy. Her enemies have their minds torn apart. There isn't much of a difference.

_Woah nice job. _A boy, Ruby doesn't even know his name, walked by. _What's your name. _Ruby felt as though has squeezed her chest. _You don't know my name? _Her voice is light as air, but anger sparks her mind. _I'm Ruby f*cking Chance. _The boy laughs, not knowing the enigma that is Ruby Chance. Ruby smiles, wipes the _(disgusting imperfect) _sweat off her face, laughs. Her blonde hair frames her pale, heart shaped face and even her eyes lie. They sparkle, clear and innocent and beautiful like the rest of her.

The boy isn't bad looking and Ruby lets her smile freeze in her place, making her look cute, innocent, childish. The sword still hangs from her long, limber fingers, gleaming in the harsh lighting of the Academy. _Let's take this somewhere else. _Ruby had been reading the boy. The set of his shoulders, the way his eyes scan her figure. Ruby closed her eyes, let the smile play over her face again and the boy guides her to a _private _location. She blows a kiss at Bennett, who drives her knives through the dummies with too much force.

_You're good at this. _The line is delivered with a slight purr, her nibbling at her lower lips. She feels validated now, whole. The boy, who has _dared_ to make her feel out of place is clay in her hands, she thought to herself as he locks lips with her and she kisses with _passion. _She has gotten good at faking passion.

_Why did I do that yesterday? _Ruby pulls off her shirt and slips into a pink tank top, perfect for running in, trying to avoid the mirrors that seem to be everywhere in her room now. She catches a glimpse of her ribs and it steals her breath away for an instant. _Finally, finally, finally. _The bones peek out from under the layers of muscle and fat. Imperfect. Undesirable. Uncontrolled. _This is the body I should have had all along. The body of a Career. One that does not tire._

She tugs on a pair of tights. She'll go out for a run later, see how far she can push herself. _Bodies are meant to be pushed. _Ruby thinks of the late night training sessions, wielding a bow, a sword, a knife, late into the night, long after everyone else had left. The clanging echoes haunt her as she drifts to sleep in her silken bed, sliding under the rich dark sheets she never uses. She didn't eat that day, she forgoes food, liking the dull throb of hunger. She dreams of her ribs, her beautiful bones springing forth. She thinks of the boys that are pressed against her, making her feel beauty, at least for the moment.

Ruby glides down the mahogany stairs of her home, the soft sound of her footfalls echoing in the empty, cold halls. The rooms surrounding hers are empty. Amy and Dia are never home much, they try and escape as soon as possible. Jaxon and Mariah (mom and dad) don't mind much.

Ruby enters the kitchen and, her sharp green eyes survey the well stocked cupboards. They have all the food she could ever need, or want, and it angers her. Chocolates and pies and ice cream all trying to poison her... Why, she thinks to herself, gasping heavy breaths, do they tempt her like this.

Why do they have to bring back old memories? She wasn't always as disciplined as she was now. She and Emmica and Sabrina and Nora her _very best friends _used to run all over the empty mansion screaming through all the fat and sugar they had stuffed in their mouths. Ruby shook her head as she helped herself to a ripe green apple, fighting the urge to gag as the fruit filled her mouth. She has to struggle to swallow. (Why is this happening apples are supposed to be safe foods. Calories I can easily burn away.)

Emmica and Sabrina and Nora haven't changed. They train but they train half heartedly, maybe showing up once a week to maybe throw some knifes go for a short run or something. They mostly stare at the guys there and mock her as she throws herself into training full force. But she isn't paying full attention and stares at them when they aren't looking.

All of them are fat, annoying, and childish, Ruby has decided. But I'm still the ugly one. She tosses the half eaten apple in the trash, feeling a thrill of pride surge through her at her self control. _One step closer to beauty. To strength. _She stretches, feeling the fat ripple on her stomach and grabs a water bottle before walking out of the door. She planned on going for a short run, to the end of her street, maybe through Jasper Park, but now that seems terrifyingly inadequate.

She's seen her face in the mirror before she goes and reaches out to touch it, feeling the fat that coats her cheeks and her forehead. _No one can see my perfect green eyes. Too much fat. _Garnet can run forever. Jasper is the best fighter in District One. _I have to beat them_. Ruby grits her teeth together and takes off at a full sprint, feeling power surge through her Games.

_I will win. _Her chest rises and falls as she imagines the endless tributes she will kill. They stand right at the end of the street, she just has to _keep going. Death is not part of my plan. _She will achieve endless fame, glory, money, beauty, immortality. All she has to do is be perfect. Be the best.

_Stay strong, Ruby Chance. _

The boy blows her a kiss in that dark closet. Her arms tire in the middle of the night. There are dark circles under her eyes. She isn't the best. She isn't perfect. She's falling. She's failing. She's slowing down. She's weak. Falls forward, arms splayed on the pavement.

_Lillia Bennett, are you happy now?_

TOBIAS MASON

**Thanks for letting me change the District, nemetb34!**

His mother's eyes are glassy with fever and her hair is dripping with sweat. Despite every window in the room being open; the curtains are fluttering in the icy breeze, her face and skin are red and damp. She's sleeping right now, and something stirs inside the Career at her peaceful state. She looks infantile, as if her bones had shrunk and the skin hangs off her frame like clothes that don't quite fit.

_She was beautiful once_, her father says as his eyes turn wistful. Tobias has heard this a thousand times before. She stares out of pictures, eyes bright, not feverish but shining. They capture her in a laugh, her golden hair tossed back as she runs through life before tripping and falling, the air and life stolen from her lungs. Tobias will cross his arms, and his eyebrows will arch and his lips will curl back from his teeth. _Oh yeah? _He is finding it easier and easier to slip into an act, as if the veins and bones that make him up are becoming rewired as he plays the part of Tobias the Career.

His father isn't quite there anymore, so he doesn't mind the way he hurts him. He will still help him at the fur shop, carrying the coats around town, delivering them to richer people who purr and fawn over them as they try them on. Tobias sneers at them as well, and silently tells himself that he will be superior to them someday.

Something twists in his stomach as he holds his mother's limp hand in his own. It's slick with sweat as well, but he holds it in his own, strong and calloused. Tobias is almost afraid that he'll crush her birdlike bones.

"_Roman." _His mother's peaceful state is shattered as she flips and twists in the bed, tangling the cream colored sheets around her tiny waist and legs as the name of his brother passes her dry lips.

"No, no," Tobias croons, disgusted with how weak and girlish his voice sounds. "Tobias. Tobias is here for you now." He squats next to his mother's bed. Her sickness has ebbed now, he tells himself. But there was a time in the house where it seemed like a dark pall had been cast over it, turning the inhabitants into zombies who could think of nothing other than the death of their mother, the woman who had brought light to their house, who had been nothing but kind to her boys.

Roman had chosen to leave for District Eleven them. Tobias cried when he left, but he had screamed through his tears, accusing his brother of giving his mother the sickness, telling him that he was no longer family. That was when he vowed not to feel, when his world had darkened and people turned to shadows in his eyes. _Humans are selfish, cold things. They do not deserve to know Tobias Mason. The world will not tolerate weakness._

"Mother," he says to the cold, dark room. "You have to get better so you can save this family."

Then, the young boy turns and leaves, turning the lights off as he went. He walked down the stairs, arms shaking, eyes squeezed shut. _Thank god no one was watching... a boy crying to his mother… the fuck was I thinking… this isn't a chick flick or whatever. _

He presses his lips together, standing still. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the banister. Jeb and Wren and Ellis were probably standing in front of the door, milling around the barren yard. Wren and Ellis are probably at each other's throats, maybe with a few blows traded. Both vying for power.

Tobias slips on tattered sneakers and slips over the hardwood floors, resting his hands on the rusted doorknob. He opens the door with dread in his gut.

Wren strikes Jeb in the chest and they both stagger back, faces contorted into masks of anger, the typical Career. They circle each other, shoulders hunched, poised for battle. Jeb snarls and leaps forward, a brute, an animal. Wren falls to the floor and the boy straddles him, pummeling his face and the boy holds his arms up, with tears of anger and shame falling. He writhes on the floor and Tobias stares at his friend with disdain.

"You're weak."

Kids filter past probably on their way to school. They plan to take over the family business and make luxuries. Tobias plans to fight to the death.

"You idiots, let's get to training." He starts down the concrete path and Jeb climbs off of Wren with a dark look. Tobias is the unspoken leader of the group. Wren and Jeb and Ellis are a lot of things, but intelligent isn't one of them. They are the average District One Male. They're middle class with modest houses and a dream of becoming a tribute, but with nothing to set them apart.

"What were you even fighting about anyway?" Ellis asks as he falls in step with Tobias, who strides forward, eyes fixed on the pristine Academy at the end of their street.

"I don't know." Jeb laughs and runs a hand through his untidy mop of hair. "He was being, you know, a Wren."

Something rots inside of Tobias's stomach. Soon they will be at the Academy, along with the hundreds of other boys who live the same life as them. The carbon copy Careers. He's seen them a thousand times. It dominates the District and the education system is rotting as more and more choose to take the path of a brute, a gladiator.

The gang falls to silence, save for Wren's whimpers. The Hunger Games loom over them, turning the people into frenzied maniacs. They rise at dawn and only leave training at midnight, with no breaks in between. Tobias's muscles are turning leaden and he finds it hard to raise his axes. The anger that seems to overtake him is sharp and complete and the punches he throws in the seemingly endless fights are powerful, shattering bone. But he cries at the edge of his mother's bed afterward and sobs about the lack of beauty anywhere in his District. He's turning into someone else, a hollow person, a cardboard cutout of a Career.

_The Games will cure me. _The victors seem proud, hardened and cold. They seem so perfect, strong and rich and beautiful and famous. Victory will earn him all that. Victors, their families are one whole, smiling for the cameras. Victors bring glory to the District and they live in a mansion with all the money they could ever want. If he comes victor, his family will no longer be mundane, imperfect. His mother will regain her beauty and his father will no longer run a fur shop. His demons will be put to rest and he will stop fighting himself. _I will be the perfect Career._

Tobias drifts through the halls of the Academy, lost in thought. Wren, Jeb and Ellis are bickering again, but that is beneath him. They are directionless, boasting of their prowess with their swords but they don't have the guts to volunteer. They would lose anyway.

He picks up his trademark axe, feeling his muscles strengthen and the power flow through his veins. He spins on his heel, letting the weapon do the work, tear through the dummy's flesh like it is nothing. He dives in again and again, feeling the adrenaline take over, feeling like he is something else, a beast, one that cannot think or feel, drunk on power.

He only stops when the dummy is torn to ribbons and there is nothing left to attack.

"I win," he growls to the pile of debris. Tobias imagines that he will face Roman in the arena. It is a dark fantasy. His brother is weak, spineless and couldn't handle District One, so he chose to work in District Eleven, ruling over the weaklings that toil over the fields all day. He will laugh as he kills his brother.

He spins on his heel again, grabs some throwing axes and hurls them at the targets, methodical. They embed themselves in the chest of the human targets, so much more precise, more powerful than the weaklings that surround him, stumbling forward, the weapons flying everywhere. _Is this the best District One has to offer. _He shakes his head. _Rich, spoiled brats._

He keeps training, flitting from station to station, breezing through them like it is nothing. The Academy lends him a sense of power. He is at home here, not like his empty house, not working with his father, who has become so distant since their mother, not when he's with Wren and Jeb and Ellis, the shallow, vapid, talentless _brutes. _He is out of place in the streets, where the hidden beauty, the birds that sing and take flight, the leaves with pale green underbellies and the people that exist there, they make him yearn for home, tie him to a peaceful _weak_ state. They make him want to capture the world, to draw it, to write it, to _create_ something. They make him want to be _kind._

_Weakness is not tolerated here. The Games will exterminate it. _Tobias is reeling now, wielding swords like it's nothing, battling boys who put their all into this, easily beating them. They don't have his easy grace in battle, his agility and his strength. His body was _made _for this. His very mind was crafted for battle. The sun is reaching it's zenith and the Career in training knows that he will spend the rest of the day here, bettering himself.

_Weakness is not tolerated here. _He wipes the sweat off of his forehead and presses the point of the sword to the boy's neck.

"I win." The words are cold, rehearsed. He will say them again, when he is the last man standing.


	4. District Two

ASTRID CALLOWAY

_She's watched this a thousand times. The axe falls in slow motion, tearing her stomach open. She can hear the ripping sound as blood rushes out, staining her skin red. She doesn't fall quickly, no, she staggers back and forth, pained moans escaping her lips. Her death isn't quick. She falls to the ground, raising a limp arm in defense against the inevitable. The District One boy is laughing, a mad light in his eyes. He laughs as she dies, bleeds out, as if this all was some magnificent joke. The cannon, it seems to split the very air as it booms out, signaling the end of the Games. The boy, a skinny, bony thing is dancing around, howling, thrusting his arms up to the sun like he didn't just murder a girl._

_The painful thing is that the girl didn't even put up a good fight. She just bowed to death like she didn't have a family and friends and a fiancee back home. The Games tore her fiery spirit to pieces and left her a hollow shell of her person._

_Then, the Capitol cheers. The boy was a favorite. People stream out on the streets, with fake hair and fake eyes and fake everything, dancing around like the boy did after he slaughtered her sister, so happy, so cheerful, so free. As if death was nothing. As if her sister was just another tribute. _

Astrid screams and it echoes around the empty house. Her parents are absent, probably in the Capitol again, laughing with those who slaughtered her sister and didn't care. She runs a comb through her orange hair, and braids it with nimble fingers before tossing on a t-shirt and walking the halls of her empty house. Several maids bustle around, responsible for upkeep but they are the only ones who ever seem to set foot in the house anymore.

Astrid presses her lips into a thin line and walks downstairs. When Attila decided she would train for the Games, she demanded her parents install training equipment. _I have to catch up. Some of those Careers have been training for their whole lives. I have to keep up._

They acquiesced; the girls could get anything they wanted, and training equipment had been set up in the basement. After Attila died, Astrid couldn't bear to set foot down there. She had often sat there as Attila poured her heart and soul into training, often screaming at herself when she couldn't wield the sword just right. Astrid would hug her, holding her sister close. Attila sometimes taught Astrid to throw knives, that was her specialty. Astrid can't touch those knives anymore, so she picks up a sword, testing it.

But the only other option was the Academy. More and more _brutes_ were taking over. The type that would make a fool out of their prestigious District. She exploded at this one girl, threw a punch at her, breaking her nose and was thrown out for a day, for a _lack of District pride. _Humiliated, fuming, and angry, she refused to come back.

She spins around, almost feeling her sister there, guiding her.

_I'm gonna gut the throats of some outer district kid. I'm gonna come home, Astrid._

The Career lunges forward, pressing the tip of the point to the dummy, right between it's ribcage. It was one of the high end models, designed to mimic the human body as perfectly as possible.

_I've trained so hard. I have to volunteer. There isn't any other option, sis…_

Beads of sweat begin to appear on Astrid's brow as she swings the sword again and again, closing her eyes, relishing how the hard outer covering tears open. The dummy is battered from side to side as Astrid trains, her thoughts becoming heightened, sharpened. In her mind, the world is nothing more than this battle between her and her enemy.

_Oh, Astrid, you couldn't possibly understand the feeling. You think it's crazy but I really love this._

She whirls around, bringing the sword above her head, delighting in the ache in her muscles. It meant her body was learning, that she was one step closer to victory.

_I'm getting stronger every day. You know what, Astrid, I can do this. I can actually do this._

The dummy's head clatters to the floor. Astrid looks at it dully, the rush of battle gone. There is nothing left to fight.

_I guess it's time to move on to axes now._ That was what Atilla would say, with a girlish little giggle tacked on to the end of her sentence.

Astrid fiddles with the handle of the axe, staring at it intently. The burn in her chest, the ache in her muscles all drove the thoughts of grief from her head, even as her body was slipping into Atilla's routine. She had fantasized about winning the Games for years, it was simply what District Two kids _did. _But now, she was closer than ever.

_I will be the spark. _She closes her eyes. _The Capitol will fall under my sword. _Power was what Astrid craved most. Power, power and vengeance.

She takes a deep breath, brings the axe back and thrusts it forward. It embeds itself in the target and the blunt sound echos through the basement. _Atilla, Atilla, Atilla._

MARO LINWOOD

_No damn time for anything. _Maro wields the mace like it's an extension of himself, bringing it down on the dummy with full force. He pummels the defenseless thing with all the rage he's felt all day and it leaves him exhausted and panting. The other Careers are still going strong and anger sweeps through him, giving him a new strength. He lets the mace fall and heads off to the swords section.

_You never know what there's gonna be in the arena, _Franco always told him, urging him to try something other than the mace, which just felt so _right_ when he held in in his hands in the training center. Franco, himself, doesn't take training seriously, claiming that it just _wasn't for him. _Maro kept silent at that, biting back barbed comments. He can't understand his friend sometimes. Why on Earth wouldn't you fight? _Are you weak?_

Training has done him good, Maro thinks as he circles the dummy, carving gashes in it, almost _toying _with the thing. He has learned control, and it has given him a world beyond the tiny town he has spent his whole life in. _If it wasn't for the Games I would have lived and died in my hometown. _

It's given him something beyond the odd jobs he's worked in, something beyond the rocky soil that seems to make up everything. At four, his mother died and everything fell apart. At twelve, he crawled through vents, where the air was made of dirt and he had to struggle to breathe for a few coins a day. At thirteen, he swung hammers to crush rocks in an endless, never ending struggle. Then, he discovered the Games and _gloried. _He could sneer at the people who spit at him as he pressed the hilt of a blade to their neck and both of them knew that he could crush the life out of them. He finally could make use of the strength he had gained, working day in, day out.

_I, Maro Linwood, will win. I will take this family back._

The Hunger Games offer him respite. Finally, finally, he won't have to walk through the streets with the glitzy lights and the Capitolites that stream through the streets with fake faces and fake lives and the richer people following them around as if they were the Messiah. Finally, finally, he won't have to keep holding his tongue as his _peers _boast of how they will be the ones who will win the Games, how they will be the ones to take over the family business, how they will be the ones to be a slave to the Capitol.

He and Franco see through all this _shit. _He nods as Franco speaks on everything under the sun, the mayor, the Games, the Capitol, the Dark Days, District One, District Twelve. Most of what they know is speculation, nothing more than rumors, but they pretend to understand. It's all they will ever know.

Maro pants as he lets his arm fall and the sword falls to the floor. His brown eyes flutter shut and his close cropped black hair drips with sweat. It's the first time he's allowed himself rest all day. He runs down the streets at midnight for training. Then, he runs to his job as a bricklayer. He doesn't know many people there, mostly keeping to himself. The others there are too depressing to talk to. Like him, they threw their lives away to training, but they never got to the Games. Maybe they weren't fast enough, weren't strong enough to get up to the stand. So, without family connections, they spent their lives doing odd jobs, maybe with alcohol to make the pain ebb away each night, drinking to the bottom of the glass.

_Well, my story will be different. _That is his maxim as he works away at his job. He runs away, clutching a few coins in his strong, calloused hands, turned hard from work. Then, he trains. He pours his heart out into training, washing everything away in sweat, in the dull thud of swords and maces and clubs, in the roar of knives and swords as they speed towards the targets like birds.

He'll slip back home in the middle of the night, chest rising and falling, heart pounding against his ribs. He wants to allow himself sleep, to wake up to birdsong, with Angeline and Cody and all the other birds and strays she's brought home by his side.

It doesn't happen like that. His father is passed out on the floor of their _shack_ they call home, an empty bottle they call home. He can't hate the man, despite his _many _failings. He was too weak and his mind snapped. It happens too often. But Angeline is always there, holding the mangy Cody in her birdlike arms, sitting at the table, maybe with a book.

Maro wants to whisk her away, Angeline is sweet and kind and somehow still innocent. That won't happen unless he wins the Games. She's tough enough for the dark underbelly of District Two, but still compassionate, somehow. She brought Cody home, along with countless birds and cats and other dogs. Most of them, she sets free once they've healed, but Cody stayed, their silent companion.

Maro is surviving on the adrenaline from training, Angeline's soft smiles, Franco's impassioned speeches, a desire to save his father from passing out on the floor, blood poisoned. Most of all, it's his rage at everything that lends him the wings to complete this impossible routine, keep walking this tightrope of survival and _success. _He will prove the rich _wrong. _He will prove the workers _wrong. _He will prove the government _wrong. _He will crush those that spit on him.

All he has to do is win. And keep surviving in the meantime.

He strides out of the Training Center, casting a dark look at the _brats _who are huddled by the door, wearing designer clothes and are clutched bejeweled swords, probably custom produced and given to them by _doting _parents, pretty mother and powerful fathers, all of whom drift around their golden mansions.

**Author's Note: I have almost all the tributes, check my profile for the list but I NEED more before I can move on for District Three. If you haven't already, please submit a tribute. I DO accept guest submissions, so leave one in the review section and we can finally move on with this story :D Also, I'll be updating my other story, In the City of Ghosts, so check that one out. :)**

**~The Unsilenced**


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